The Automatic Impulse
by fffiction
Summary: Warning: Contains coarse language, adult themes, and spoilers for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. After Fred Weasley's death, a heartbroken Katie Bell reflects on their romantic history together. Multi-chapter HP fic, set from years -1 to 7 .
1. Deulling Butterflies

_A/N: None of these characters are mine. Obviously. Also: please review! Hooray!_

_--- _

"_Katie. Katie, listen to me. Are you all right?"_

It's cold in here, and I barely register Angelina's worried face. I don't answer.

"_She's not answering."_

Obviously. I can practically hear Alicia biting back a sarcastic remark. Leanne's hand squeezes mine worriedly.

Why is it so cold?

I should probably say something to them, anything; after all, they're so worried. But I can't bring myself to speak. I know I'll cry if I do, or maybe just explode. Neither one sounds very appealing to me at the moment.

"_Fuck, she's shivering. Do you think she was hit with something?"_

Besides, I'm busy watching the gruesome procession before me, scanning for the telltale glimpse of ginger. I don't know what I'll do when I see it. I'll probably keep watching, even though every part of me will scream to look away.

That's how I reacted before, anyway. When I saw him. Well, when I saw George sitting over what had to have been him. I went into the Great Hall, grief for those lost heavy on my shoulders, and my heart stopped when I saw all those redheads crying. I counted. One was absent.

"_No, I doubt it. I was with her the entire time, and I don't remember anything worse than a Stunning spell…" _

I remember dread mostly. It seeped through my body, to the very ends of my shaking hands. One twin was alive. Selfishly, I hoped it was Fred.

I hate myself for that.

But when the one twin looked up at me with a hollow, dead expression, I knew it was George. He met my eyes, blinked once, and then looked back down.

I probably would have broken down right then and there, but then the news came. You Know Who's voice, loud and terrifying, telling us that Harry was dead.

"_Maybe she saw someone we missed. I—"_

I remember a stabbing sort of grief for Harry, different from the dull, cold ache I felt- feel- for Fred. I hadn't known Harry so well; I suppose we could have been friends, but it never really clicked. Still, he'd taught me during DA meetings; he was a good Quidditch captain and a wonderful Seeker. He and his friends had helped save me after I'd been cursed by that necklace, Leanne had told me that. He had always been kind to me, funny.

The pandemonium that ensued made me realize that I had to wait, push back my breakdown until after whatever was about to happen had happened. I managed to keep myself mostly stoic through Harry's return and You Know Who's defeat; no flutter of happiness, however, has managed to enter me, not even now, after it's all over. Just a cold sense of relief- and dread for the days to come.

"_I don't know; I did see her go into the Great Hall, though, for a second."_

Now, I suppose, this is the breakdown. After all, I'm shaking and shivering and not answering my obviously worried friends; my eyes are even stinging like they do when I'm about to cry. Isn't that what breakdowns consist of?

After You Know Who died, families congregated back around their loved ones. Now they're bringing the dead out of the Great Hall, trying to start the damage control.

Now I watch; I wait.

"_Should we try a Warming Charm?"_

"_Good idea. Fuck, what's the incantation?"_

"_Ferevens Aerus, I think. I wouldn't- fuck."_

"_What?"_

"_Is that Fred?"_

There they are, most of the Weasleys standing around a slowly levitating Fred, a sort of macabre procession… but it's not Fred, not really. The real Fred was always laughing; this Fred looks too somber, too peaceful in his sleep.

I blink and feel something hot and wet on my cheeks.

But I'm still cold.

"_Fuck."_

Three pairs of hands are on me now, on my shoulders, my forehead, my back. I hear them murmuring to me. It doesn't matter what they're saying. I'll probably hear it ten thousand more times in the weeks to come.

God, I can't believe this. It seems like yesterday when I first met them, all of them, on the Hogwarts Express. My first year.

I'm still crying.

It's still freezing in here.

---

It was just me and my _Cannons _book in that compartment at first. As a first year, I didn't have any friends yet, and most of the compartments looked full. The ones that had only one or two people in them- well, I didn't want to be unwelcome, not on my first day. So I found an empty compartment and settled in relative peace, reading my battered copy of _Flying with the Cannons_ and trying not to think about my mum and dad too much.

The peace didn't last long. After about a minute and a half, two grinning redheads stomped loudly into the compartment. I looked up at them, annoyed.

"Morning, ickle firstie."

"Hope we're not intruding…"

"…But this is our compartment, after all."

"Think you could clear out?"

I scowled up at the boys. They couldn't have been more than a year above me, and I refused to leave the compartment just because they thought they could bully me out of it.

"No, sorry," I said, not sorry at all, but a little hesitant nonetheless. "There aren't any other empty ones, and I don't much feel like intruding on people while they're in their compartment. It's obnoxious." I waited with bated breath; would I be hexed during my first minutes as a Hogwarts student? The twins glanced at each other slowly, and my pulse quickened.

Instead of getting angry, however, the boys just grinned. "Well then," one began, "I suppose there's no harm in letting you stay with us."

"In fact, I'd say it was an honor, wouldn't you, George?"

"Why, Fred, I was thinking the exact same thing. Now budge up, firstie."

I frowned, but before I could protest, the boys were sitting on either side of me, uncomfortably close. "Do you mind?" I asked, annoyed.

"Not at all," came the reply from the left of me.

They didn't move. I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to protest again, but suddenly three other second-years- two girls and a boy- burst into the room, grinning and chatting animatedly. One of them, a laughing boy with dreadlocks to his shoulders, addressed the twins. "Gred," he said, inclining his head to each of the twins in turn. "Forge. Nice to see you. Have any new wares for me this year?"

"Not yet," said the one on my left; I think he was addressed as 'Gred.' "But you can have the firstie we found." He grinned wickedly. "She's _fiery._"

I scowled, and one of the others, a pretty girl with dark skin that towered over her companions, frowned. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing!" 'Forge' protested, putting on a look of innocence. "We were walking along the train—"

"—Behaving like angels, as always—"

"—When suddenly, we came upon this poor wench!"

"She looked lost. Poor thing."

"She _begged_ us to stay with her—"

"—We can't ever refuse a damsel in distress, you know—"

"—And so we obliged."

"Generously."

The other girl, who was shorter and paler than the first with black hair and warm gray eyes, snorted. "Yeah, and I'm a Hippogriff."

Gred frowned. "I don't know how you could ever assume we're lying, Alicia. We _saved_ this poor ickle babykins. Right, firstie?" He looked down at me and grinned.

I admit, what I did next was rather stupid. But I learned from my two brothers- seven and eight years older than me, respectively- that a girl has to stand up for herself. Always.

I reached up and smacked Gred in the back of his fat head with my book. "Prat."

There was a moment of dead silence, and then the entire compartment burst into laughter. At first, I sat sullenly and watched the rest roll around in their seats, but after a moment or so I couldn't contain myself any longer and started giggling with the rest of them.

Once everyone had calmed down, the twins put their arms around me. "We like you," Forge said, ruffling my hair. I tried to look annoyed, but I was secretly quite pleased- though I'd never have admitted it at the time.

Gred nodded. "Too true. And who knows? You might just be in Gryffindor, firstie."

I decided to push my luck. "It's Katie," I said with a stubborn frown.

They just laughed.

---

I had known, from the beginning, how to tell the twins apart; Angelina told me the secret on my first night while an indignant Fred and George stood by. She was the nicest, by far, of that older group, and I think she was the one that kept bringing me back into their conversations, letting me know I was welcome, especially after I was Sorted into Gryffindor [much to my delight. At first, I had felt like the annoying little one, riding on the coattails of her older, more popular friends, and maybe I was, if only in the beginning. But- and I think it was mostly thanks to Angelina- I quickly became an actual part of their little group.

Alicia was on my side, too, but not at first; only until she'd taken the mickey out of me for assuming that the twins' names were really 'Gred' and 'Forge' did she show any kind of friendly affection. I was a bit scared of her at first, I admit, with her sharp tongue and black humor, but I got used to it after a while. And besides, it was Alicia who had pulled me aside, Angelina in tow, to give me my 'initiation rite,' which, although it sounded frightening coming from Alicia, was only Angelina telling me how to distinguish the identical Weasley twins.

"It's when they both speak together, that's how you do it," she'd said, grinning easily. "Fred would be the tenor; George is always two or so steps lower."

"We're not a bloody chorus!" they'd said at the same time, sounding offended.

I had grinned and pointed. "That one's Fred, then."

Their furious looks had been enough to tell me I was correct.

---

However, in the next few years I learned to tell who was who just by the way they looked at me.

It started off innocently enough. George had always looked with the same sort of amusement that he'd had for anyone- or anything- else; still does. Fred, though… Fred had been different. He always kept watching me, even after George had looked away. When Fred laughed, he would covertly look over to see if I was laughing, too. I didn't think anything of it, not in my first few years. I was just happy to be noticed, glad to get on the Quidditch team with all my friends during second year, ecstatic when Fred and George stopped calling me 'ickle firstie.'

But then, in the beginning of my third year, the looks matured, changed. They were… smoldering. Fred's eyes followed me everywhere, lingered on my hips and budding breasts, locked onto my own eyes for far too long. It scared me a little, the expression that he wore whenever I was near; it excited me.

I was not, to my dismay, the most well developed fourteen-year-old. In fact, I never quite filled out in the same way that the other girls did; even Alicia and Angelina, who had the same sort of athletic frame as me, had curves I would have killed for. Well, not killed, but maybe maimed.

I was short and downright scrawny before puberty, and after it I was still short and relatively skinny. I spent forever obsessing about my figure, I won't deny; even Leanne, who was in my year and probably my best friend- though she didn't follow Quidditch, which put her off with Fred's lot- seemed to pity my lack of breasts [to be fair, she was _huge_. My measurements barely changed throughout the years; true, my waist-hips ratio grew, but my chest was about as developed as it was when I'd received my Hogwarts letter three years before.

When Fred looked at me, though, I could believe that I had proportions to rival even Leanne's. I could forget my too-skinny frame, my too-thin hair, my too-pale skin, my too-big eyes. When Fred looked at me like he did, I fancied myself beautiful. No, not beautiful- _hot._ Smoking. I liked that feeling.

I liked Fred, too. Despite the not-so-kind first impressions, he never failed to make me laugh, even after Professor Snape had failed me three days in a row because my potion making was 'intolerable.' After that bloody Montague nearly beheaded me during a Quidditch game in third year, Fred was so angry that he convinced George to use a piece of 'new merchandise' for a particularly nasty prank that they never did tell me about, though I'm not sure I ever wanted to find out. And whenever he touched me [believe me, he found every reason to, as did I, there was a weird sort of charge to it, a trill in my lower abdomen that never faded, just got stronger with time.

With all this sexual tension, it was a matter of time before something happened; everyone was saying so, and they continued to say so even after something did happen.

It was after what was supposed to be an early-morning Quidditch practice, in September of my third year; Oliver had had a 'brilliant' new plan to start training at an ungodly hour of the morning. Practice was cut short- actually, it never even began, as the Slytherin team showed up and called one of Harry's friends [Hermione, I think a Mudblood. There was a backfired jinx thrown, and Fred's brother Ron was coughing up slugs. Lovely, right? He, Harry, and Hermione ran off to right the poor kid, and the rest of the team went back into the locker room to change.

To this day, I have no clue what possessed me to take so long changing back into my school robes. It must have been a good fifteen to twenty minutes; I wouldn't be surprised to hear it was longer. All I know is that by the time I was almost finished, everyone but Fred had left.

He was sitting, watching me with the same intensity as he had been all month, just behind me; my back was to him as I pretended to organize my locker. I fancied I could hear him blink, it was so quiet. I reached up and brushed the hair out of my face; as I did so, I let out an unintentional sigh.

Suddenly, Fred had crossed the room and I was standing with my back to my open locker; we were mere centimeters apart, eyes locked on one another. I blinked; so did he. We were getting closer and I could feel his hot breath on my face and he smelled like smoke and soap and _boy _and I'd never noticed how perfectly golden-brown his eyes were and I could swear that I was shaking and I felt my gaze drop to his lips and then-

He kissed me. I can still remember how my heart hammered, how in that moment it seemed that our bodies had fused together, how it felt to have his fingers all tangled up in my hair, how soft and warm and lovely his lips felt on mine. I felt his tongue touch my lips; an unanswered question, hanging in the little space that there was between us. I answered it, opening my mouth to him. Our tongues pulsed together and something hot as lava sprang up from the butterflies in my belly; moments before they were simply doing to the conga, and now they were full-fledged dueling, I was sure of it.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. He pulled away- actually, it might have been me who pulled away, or both of us together- and we locked eyes again. Slowly, he untangled his hands from my hair. Slowly, I released my vice like grip from around his waist. I had a fully inappropriate urge to laugh, but quelled it; why did he look so nervous?

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, then opened it again, but no sound came out. I just turned back to my locker, partly to feign nonchalance and partly to hide my stupid grin. I closed my locker and turned back towards him. He had returned to the other side of the room.

"Back to the castle, then, shall we?" I asked, trying to sound innocent but failing- my voice shook miserably, I know.

Fred frowned a little, then shook his head like a dog ridding his ears of water and looked back up at me, grinning in a very Fred-like way. "Let's."


	2. Trysting

---

We didn't tell anyone about the kiss. I don't know if it was ever a conscious decision, but neither of us breathed a word about it; even George was in the dark. Sure, there were questions when we got back- Lee made some lewd suggestions, and Alicia let out a few scathing quips- but we just brushed it all off, and they dropped it. I still can't recall just how I explained the stupid grin that lingered on my face for days, but it must have been brilliant to have fooled Angelina and Alicia.

It was about two days after the kiss that I realized things were different. The electricity was still there between us, yes, but there was a weird sort of awkwardness there as well. Fred wouldn't talk to me, avoided my eyes at all costs; he shifted almost guiltily whenever I entered the room. You could say I was disconcerted.

You could also say that it broke my heart.

I was convinced that Fred felt bad about what we'd done, wanted to take it back. I wondered, as any teenage girl would, if he were somehow disgusted by it, by me; if he thought that I was too young, too skinny, too ugly, too ungainly, or- worst of all- a bad kisser. I'd thought that the kiss was brilliant [awkward, yes, but brilliant; what if I'd been wrong?

These thoughts plagued me, and I was becoming quickly obsessed with watching Fred's every move and dissecting it into my head- organizing it, overanalyzing it, and generally driving myself crazy.

During this period, I noticed how Fred lingered after every Quidditch practice, after meals. He stayed late in the common room, even sending George up to bed before he would move. True, Fred avoided my gaze when we were within a few feet of each other, but whenever I was across the room with Leanne or any of my other friends, he would always try to catch my eye. Subsequently, I steadfastly ignored him.

I knew what he was going to do, to say, if he got me alone again. I was convinced that he would apologize. I was absolutely sure that he'd want to take it back, and I didn't want that. I wanted, if not to do it again, then to at least keep that one memory. After all, it had been my first kiss. Who was Fred to take it away from me?

Still, every time he tried to catch my eye, it was harder and harder to look away in time. I told myself that he was getting quicker and I slower, but I knew that my resolve was crumbling. In the nights before, I'd composed in my head an impressive rant; I can barely remember it now, besides that it was positively scathing. I wanted to deliver this rant, to play out the scene in my head [in which, after I had spoken my mind, Fred fell to his knees begging for forgiveness in a very gratifying manner.

Finally, two weeks after our kiss, I succumbed. I caught his eye from across the common room and held it for a full minute; finally, he looked away, his ears slightly pink. I knew that he'd gotten the message, and I waited for everyone to go up to bed.

Fred and I weren't alone until around midnight, when the two seventh year girls that had been arguing in the corner finally made their way up to their dormitory, bickering viciously all the way and leaving Fred and I to ourselves.

Neither of us spoke, not at first; I tried to read the book on my lap while he paced nervously on the other side of the room. Finally, I looked up, feeling incensed. Was this all he wanted to get me alone for, awkward silence? I frowned. "Well?"

He jumped, looking uncharacteristically frazzled for a moment. He then seemed to remember himself and shook his head, crossing the room over to me. "Katie, listen—" he started.

That was all I needed to begin. "You shouldn't apologize," I started. To show him I was serious, as rehearsed, I looked into his eyes.

Mistake. I could feel my words fly out of my head like a thousand doves, circling up through the ceiling and out into the night sky, lost forever. He seemed to know that they'd left and grinned crookedly. "I wasn't going to," he said, and then leaned in to kiss me.

---

We started meeting as much as possible after that night; it was always just a scorching kiss or two, and nothing more, as it took so long for both of us to get away from friends and twin brothers that by the time we'd accomplished it, we were always either very late for something or very, very tired. I like to think that we did a very good job, too, of hiding the trysts from our friends, although there's no way I can be sure of that. For all I knew, they could have all known, and were just humoring us; I somehow doubt it, though.

What they did notice was how public interactions between Fred and I changed. We were slightly more polite to each other than we had been before, and we never touched in public- it was too risky. Angelina and Alicia kept pointing this lack of normalcy between us, but I steadfastly denied it. I'd thought that we were doing well-- but then, I suppose I never realized just how obvious Fred and I were about liking each other before our first kiss.

Still, if they suspected anything, they never accused us of it, and soon it was mid-May. There was strain on almost everyone in the school-- the Quidditch Cup had been cancelled, Dumbledore was gone, and two more students had been attacked, one of them Hermione Granger. Fred started hanging around me even more than he had before—showing up between my classes, escorting me to lunch—and I think he was mostly nervous, afraid I'd be the next to be attacked. I was nervous, too, I admit, but not as on edge; after all, _I_ wasn't strictly Muggle-born, my _mum_ was-- and she met my dad, a half-blood, at Hogwarts. I was pretty sure that I was safe, but apparently Fred wasn't, and he was willing to stick around and strangle mysterious beasts to keep me conscious. It was sweet, really, if a little annoying.

For my part, I was terrified, and not of the Heir of Slytherin. Summer was fast approaching, and I was afraid of what would happen to Fred and me, afraid that he would break it off with me before we left school- or worse, that he wouldn't see a reason to formally 'break up,' and that he'd just lose interest and take up with some Muggle floozy back home. It had been harder and harder for us to meet, what with hysterical fifth and seventh years staying up in the common room to study, and the danger of being alone in the halls while people were being attacked. What if he wanted to just be friends next year? Could I stand it? I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to find out.

So when Fred cornered me in the common room one night, I was petrified. He couldn't have expected a kiss, because there were people about, so I supposed that he just wanted to talk. And what would he want to talk about, if not a break up?

I was heading up to the dormitories when I heard him call after me. "Katie! You forgot your book," he said, but when I turned to look at him, he was uncharacteristically wary. I doubted that whatever he called me back for was a forgotten book.

Still, I went back over, and took the Potions textbook from him. We locked eyes. "Thanks," I said quietly, though it was more of a question; could I leave, or did he want to talk?

"Don't mention it," he said, his voice even. "Are you going to bed? It's still early."

He wanted me to stay. I nodded slowly, though it was against my better judgment to do so. "Is it? I didn't realize. Do you want to… play a game, or something?" Lame, but it got across my point: we could talk, but only for a second. He nodded slowly, and I turned back towards the dorm. "You go ahead, Leanne, I'll be up in a few." She gave me an odd, stern look, but I merely nodded and she went up the stairs.

We sat across each other, an untouched game of Wizard's chess between us. He was looking past my shoulder at the armchairs by the fire, where his kid brother Ron was poring over some book with Harry. "They look so weird without Hermione," he said quietly, his brow furrowed. "Too much testosterone. And Ron looks as though he's going to burst into tears any second; has ever since she was Petrified. I don't get it, I thought he hated her- he was such a prick to the girl in his first few days."

I raised my eyebrows. "You don't think there's something there?"

Fred frowned, looking at me. "What makes you said that?"

"First impressions are often revoked. I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up hooking up next year." The look I gave him was smoldering, and I was proud of myself when his ears flushed red. There was a pause, and then:

"Katie, I was wondering…" The moment of truth.

"Wondering what?" I willed my voice to stay steady, and by some miracle, it did. I even sounded a bit cold. Fred wouldn't meet my eye.

"Do you ever wish… wish that we could have some more time? Alone?"

Ah, relief. I felt it flood my body, up to my fingertips, and grinned a little. "Obviously."

He looked immensely relieved as well. "Good. Well, er, I think I can… arrange… that."

I blinked once. "Are you sure?"

"Are_you_?"

His eyes locked on mine, and suddenly I wanted to make my intentions perfectly clear. "I don't want to… but it would be nice to…" I shook my head, frowning. "I'm not ready for everything just yet. But I am ready for something."

Fred nodded. "Okay. I'll be down here at one waiting."

I smiled. "I'll see you, then. Can't wait." And with a final surreptitious smile, I stood and went up to the dormitory, suddenly not tired at all.

"What did Fred want?"

---

Leanne was waiting for me. I should have expected it, and I suppose I must have thought of it, but my excitement for the night had driven any foresight right out of my head. I frowned. "To- to give me my book. You knew that." But I had a stupid grin on my face, and I could tell Leanne wasn't buying it. She merely gave me a look, and I threw my hands up in front of me, shaking my head. "What?! He just gave me my book. Honestly, Leanne, you're so paranoid."

"Paranoid, maybe, but I'm not an idiot, Katie. The looks you two give each other—I just wish you'd tell me about things like this. I mean, we're best friends, right?" She'd started with her usual tone—proud, confident—but by the end she sounded almost hurt, and I felt my resolve crumbling. But what could I tell her? What was safe?

"You know you're my best friend, Leanne." I didn't know what else to say, and apparently, Leanne could tell. She just continued to watch me stumble over my words, with her eyebrows half-raised. I soldiered on. "Er... Leanne, I can't."

She smiled coldly. "I'm glad to know that you trust me. 'Night, Katie."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again- what could I say? That she was right, that I didn't trust her with the information? How could I explain when I myself didn't even understand the situation?

So I let her lie there in her anger and changed silently into my nightdress, feeling a horrible pit in my stomach.

---


	3. Two o'Clock

---

Two o'clock rolled around, and between anticipation for meeting Fred and guilt from my encounter with Leanne I hadn't slept a wink. Silently, I crept out of bed and considered whether or not to put on my robes. My short white cotton nightdress was far from vulgar, but it was plain- would Fred be fully clothed? I bit my lip, then decided against changing—though I did pull on a big blue sweater that my mother had gotten me from some Muggle clothing store because it 'matched my eyes.' I admit that I looked myself over in the mirror several times before I left the dormitory, and I may have even cast a cosmetic charm for good measure; needless to say, I was slightly late going down into the common room.

Fred was sitting in an armchair (wearing his own pajamas, I happened to notice) looking a bit glum, but his eyes brightened considerably when he caught sight of me. A grin split his face as he stood to meet me. "I thought you wouldn't come."

I just rolled my eyes and took his hand. "Where are we going?"

"A little place I know. Can't give details." He looked devious, and I started to worry a bit. Did he have something dangerous planned?

"How are we going to get there without running into Filch?"

Fred just laughed. "I have my ways. Shall we?"

Realizing that pressing the issue would prove fruitless, I just inclined my head and we stepped out of the portrait hole together, still holding hands. I smiled in spite of my worry; it was nice to be able to just hold hands with Fred. I liked the feeling of the castle with our fingers intertwined.

We went all over the castle; up stairs, across hallways, through almost every shortcut I knew and then some. Every few minutes, Fred would pull this battered old piece of parchment from his pocket and consult it, careful not to show me its contents. I knew better than to ask; some mysteries you just didn't press with Fred and George, and their surreal ability to avoid authority figures on their nighttime trysts was one of them. I had to admit, though, I was curious; what kind of magic could that parchment have held, that Fred would swerve to avoid a hallway before we even heard Filch's wheezy breathing from it?

Whatever it was, we walked for about ten minutes without getting caught. I was getting tired and rather bored—not to mention that Fred's hand was getting a bit sweaty—when he came to a sudden halt in front of a tapestry. "Here," he said, looking slightly distracted. I frowned.

"In the hallway, Mr. Weasley? I admit I expected more of you." My tone was teasing, and his eyes glinted with mirth as he looked sideways at me, that beautiful crooked grin lighting up his features.

Instead of answering me, however, he just pulled out his wand and tapped the tapestry once, muttering some sort of incantation.

I'm ashamed to admit that I let out a gasp at what happened next. The tapestry swung aside of its own accord to reveal a large, gaping entrance into blackness. I, too, pulled out my wand. "_Lumos._"

Fred lit his wand as well, and we stepped in together. As soon as we were in, the tapestry swung shut behind us; my grip tightened on Fred's hand considerably. He just grinned wider; I could see it from the dim light our wands produced.

Fred started producing bluebell flames that hung suspended in the air, and with every one the chamber lightened considerably. Soon, it was fully—if dimly—lit, and I could make out most of what was around me. "Is this more to your liking, Madame?" he asked, gesturing grandly around him.

We seemed to be in a sort of antechamber; the room started off wide where the tapestry was and then got slightly smaller into a pile of rubble that I assumed used to be a tunnel. I frowned. "Where does this tunnel lead?"

Fred shrugged. "Hogsmeade. But we've never used it—it must have collapsed a long time ago. Do you like it?"

I smiled and stepped closer to the boy, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. "What do you think?"

He just smiled and kissed me again, this time parting his lips and taking his time with it. I relished the feeling; for once, we weren't hurried. We could spend hours here together if we wanted to.

We kissed for a while- half an hour, it seemed, but it was probably less. That was bliss, but the molten feeling in my stomach begged for more, and I wanted desperately to oblige. Fred seemed to have the same idea; his hands slid from my waist and onto my bum.

I couldn't help it; I giggled into his mouth, and his hands snapped back to my waist like they'd been burned. "Sorry," he mumbled into my lips; I frowned and reached behind me, guiding his hands back down to my bum. I felt his smile, and it was wonderful.

We went like that for the next little while—little awkward moments of exploring each other, my hand on his bum, his traveling slowly, tentatively, to the top buttons on my nightgown. I giggled at almost every turn, and he always flushed and apologized. Looking back, it seems odd and magical to me how unsure of ourselves we were then; did we know how confident we would be with each other in a few short years?

Fred took his time unbuttoning my nightgown, as if he were afraid that I would stop him at any turn. After what felt like hundreds of years, he finally reached the last button, situated halfway between my chin and my navel. Of course, I was wearing a bra—a white lacy number that I'd put on just for the occasion (I'd thought it mattered then)—and it was exposed when he undid that last button. Fred seemed fascinated by it; he kept running his fingers over the lace on the edges as if it were Braille. Knowing that he wouldn't take the initiative, I reached back and unhooked the thing myself—quickly, before I lost my resolve. He broke the kiss and studied my face; I nodded once and his hand traveled slowly, apprehensively, to my breast.

At the last second, he jerked his hand away and shook his head. Quickly, as if he were angry, he strode to the other side of the chamber and stopped when he hit the wall and couldn't get any farther away from me.

I felt afraid and confused, and crossed my arms over my chest. "What's wrong?"

Fred shook his head and sunk into a sitting position against the wall. "I can't do it," he mumbled, not looking at me.

It was as if I'd been hit in the stomach. Was this the moment? Had he planned on letting me show him just how far I was willing to go before breaking my heart? I willed him to look me in the eye but remained silent, not trusting myself to speak. He wouldn't look up.

"Katie, I—I don't know what you want from—from this, but I can't let myself get carried away. I'll only get hurt."

Okay, so I felt a little better—sort of. About a third of the dread in my stomach was replaced by sheer confusion. I wasn't sure if that was better or worse, but at least I now trusted myself to speak. "Fred, what the hell are you talking about?"

That seemed to shake him out of his glum stupor. His head snapped up and he looked me straight in the eye, an almost angry glint in his eye. "I like you, Katie!" he began with surprising force. "I have for a while. And—and I don't want to be nothing to you. I can barely handle kissing you knowing that you don't feel the same; how can I do anything more?"

I nearly laughed with relief. He didn't want to break up with me. He had been weird around be because he liked me, and thought I didn't feel the same way. _He liked me._ I couldn't suppress my foolish grin, and for a while I couldn't even correct him; I just shook my head.

Fred didn't seem to find the situation half as amusing as I did. In fact, when I began to shake my head, he broke eye contact with me and looked back toward the floor, fuming.

"Fred—" I started, mirth seeping into my every word, but I stopped again when he refused to look up. I studied his face; he was blinking quite a lot, and his eyes were shinier than usual. That sobered me, and I strode over to kneel beside him, forgetting about my half-unbuttoned nightgown. "Fred, I like you too." He looked up distrustfully, and I shook my head. "I like you _a lot._ I was just… the reason why I've been distant is that I was afraid that _you_ didn't like _me_. I thought you were going to go home for the summer and find scores of girls that wanted to be with you; I thought you were going to forget me."

He frowned up at me for a moment, and then pulled me into his lap and kissed me deeply. I returned the gesture eagerly, desperate to prove that I felt the same about him as he did me—maybe even stronger. He broke away after a minute or so and studied my face. "I couldn't forget you if I tried, Katie. I lo--" he stopped and shook his head. "I like you. A lot."

I kissed him once more and then rested my head on his shoulder, curling up on his lap and sighing contentedly. "I like you too, Fred."

---

I must have fallen asleep like that, because the next thing I remember was Fred gently shaking me awake in the common room. I frowned and blinked blearily. "Whaatyyisit?"

Fred grinned. "Such eloquence." I reached up and smacked his chest limply, and he just laughed. "It's six. I let you sleep for an hour or two, but you should get back up into your dormitory before people start coming down."

I nodded and dragged myself out of the armchair I was in, trudging up the stairs with Fred watching me all the way.

It wasn't until I awoke again in my own bed a few hours later that I realized Fred had buttoned up my nightgown again and probably carried me back to Gryffindor Tower from the hidden chamber. It made me smile, even in my half-asleep state; what bad thing could happen now, when everything was so good?

---

I got my answer the very next day. In a blow that absolutely no one short of the Heir himself could have expected, Fred's little sister Ginny, who was only eleven at the time, was taken into the Chamber of Secrets. Professor McGonagall came into the common room and interrupted a slightly rowdy evening game of Exploding Snap just to tell us.

Of course, she didn't tell us it was Ginny; she just said it was a student, and from her articles we assumed it was a girl. Percy, the oldest Weasley at Hogwarts, was panicking; he couldn't find either of the two youngest—Ginny and Ron—while Fred and George just resumed our game, looking unaffected but slightly sobered. I myself felt a wrenching pain in my chest; that poor little girl must have been so frightened. My heart went out to her, but I just assumed that Dumbledore or McGonagall or someone would rescue her.

It wasn't until Fred, George, and Percy were called to McGonagall's office that the rest of us wondered if something was up. Angelina and Alicia were whispering in the corner, each looking rather pale. I approached them, my fists clenched in fear.

"Do you think it's Ginny, too, then?"

"Who else could it be?" Angelina replied, her voice wobbling slightly. Alicia just bit her lip, uncharacteristically silent for the occasion. Even Lee, usually so boisterous and vulgar, looked subdued.

"Where do you think Ron is, then?" I asked, looking about.

"Probably overheard something and went after her with Harry; seems like something they'd do." Alicia shook her head. "God forbid they let the adults handle it."

I frowned. "It's what any of us would do, isn't it?"

No one had a reply to that, so we just sat in silence for a while, each one of us hoping beyond hope that everything would turn out all right.

---

_**A/N:**__ Hooray! Sorry that this next chapter took so long, and that it's so short, but I'm working on the next one as I upload, so have no fear!_

_Please please review. It would make my world a sunnier place. x3_


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